David's Apple
by ShoeGoil
Summary: David swipes an apple. An inner monologue ensues as he struggles to understand his meaning and purpose. [written for STROGUE's fic contest]


**David's Apple**

By ShoeGoil

Author's note: This was written for Strogue's (Stress and Rogue's) fic contest. Heart you two! The first part, the "cause" of the story, was their story prompt. The second part, "effect," was written by me.

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**Cause:**

From the outside, it looked like the perfect piece of fruit. A nice, deep red color, its shape almost entirely round. It made his mouth water just looking at it. Reaching for it with nimble fingers, he tossed it into the air before catching it soundly in his right hand. He rubbed it against his vest, intent on bringing out more of the shine. Once he was satisfied with its appearance, he brought it to his mouth. Taking a large bite off of the apple, he realized, as his teeth sunk into the rotten underside, that perhaps it was not as perfect as he thought.

**Effect:**

Why had David done it? An apple is an apple. Nothing more. Nothing less. If he hadn't swiped it, it was possible that someone else might have. And if someone else HAD possibly been destined to pay for it, what would it have brought the vender? A penny? Two pennies? What's a penny? A newspaper. A piece of trash. Disposable. You read it, and then you toss it. Wrap your fishes in it, right? Even the rich folks, with all their fancy books and silk cravats, they still throw away their newspapers, just like the poor folks. And in just as much of a disturbing way, he imagined. Because really, does it make a difference if the newspaper is used to wrap around a fish or to line a canary's cage? It's still gross.

So why couldn't this apple—this red, shiny, perfect fruit—have been as useful to him as newspaper might have been to someone else? The apple should have given him a few moments of sweetness. A way of ebbing his thirst…of refreshing his parched, headline-scraped throat. Instead, the summer's stickiness seemed to be reverberating in this mushy, over-ripened piece of rot.

As useful to him as a newspaper might have been to someone else? What was he thinking? How useful WAS a newspaper, anyway? It didn't bring sweetness, like an apple usually does. A newspaper brought about anger and fear and resentment—remember the trolley strike?—or sensationalism—trash fires, babies born with two heads. Or lies… "Buy me last pape, mistah?"

Newspapers didn't bring anything good to the public. Because, in all honesty, David wasn't the same as the rest of them. The newsies, that is. They all sold their papers with the intention of staying afloat. Their goal? To sleep under a roof, eat a crust of bread tomorrow morning, and then buy more newspapers. What good were the NEWSIES to the public? Selling newspapers –bad news, really—just to keep alive, to keep selling more bad news.

David's goal was different. To get out. To get ahead. To stay on top.

Swiping an apple was wrong. How or why could he have done it? Sure, there was the craving for something sweet. His mother's watery soup wasn't something that always satisfied his cravings. Especially when he saw his sister and Jack together. Whoa, wait. Did he think an APPLE was going to abate THOSE cravings? That isn't anywhere where he thought he had been going with this. Get back on topic.

An apple is an apple. No more. No less. An apple is a piece of fruit. Sweetness. Stickiness. A moment of ecstasy, stolen for himself. A private moment. A moment away from the headlines of stupidity that he was made to depend on.

Well David had money. He could have paid for the apple. What's a penny or two? It's 2 papes or four. Which equals four papes or eight, and then eight papes or sixteen until it keeps multiplying and gets him closer and closer to getting out. Swiping the apple was a shortcut, getting him a day closer and dollar richer.

But the bitterness of the apple still haunted him. Filth. What a slob of a vender. Selling rotten fruit. And he didn't even have perfect aim. David, not the vender. David himself…he felt so sloppy in things like aim. Not aiming things when he threw stuff. Aiming things like insults and attacks. What had he told Jack that time? Jack had said, "I guess I can't be something I ain't," and David had been proud to have thought of his witty response. "Smart?"

But usually he wasn't good at things like that. He was smart, sure. He knew that saving two cents here would get him closer to a dollar there. But what about his street smarts? His ability to get a crowd excited? Jack sold papers by the dozens because he knew how to sweet talk the ladies and rile up the gentlemen. David, with all his honesty and sensitivity, couldn't bear to tell a falsehood. To take a sip of beer…to sweet talk anyone to get a penny out of them.

But he could swipe an apple? Why 'swipe?' Why sugar-coat it? David was a poor, working kid. Why should he waste money on sugar, anyway? It was STEALING. He stole.

Maybe the apple was fine. The apple was fine and it was his taste buds that were rotten. Maybe you start to lose your taste buds the moment that you head down the wrong way. He hated the taste of beer last time Jack had tried to get him to drink it. All the guys drank beer. It helped them forget their worries. Everyone except David. They thought it was because he didn't have worries to drown in. That wasn't true. It was because he didn't like the taste of beer.

But that was before this morning. Before he stole. Yes, stole. Maybe tonight he'd end up with a beer in his hand as he hung out at the local tavern with Jack. Usually it was a sarsaparilla or a coffee. They were cheaper than beer, too. But now, after his bitter taste of the apple, maybe a sarsaparilla or a coffee wouldn't hang it anymore. Maybe he needed to try something harder.

An apple is not an apple. It is much more than a piece of fruit. The downfall of mankind, shined up on the outside, but rotten to the core. If anyone dared to look into David's soul, what would they see? An apple core? A fish wrapped in a bad headline? A canary with a dirty cage? A yearning dealt with, penny by penny? David didn't know what he wanted. It wasn't an apple he craved. Not really.


End file.
